How Quaint
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: JRPGs vs. WRPGs. It's a debate as old as time itself. And for better for worse, it was a debate Isaac and co. stumbled into...


_A/N_

_Ah, WRPGs vs. JRPGs, a debate as old as time itself (or Internet fandom at least), where battlelines have been drown, friendships torn asunder, and people are banned from forums. In the spirit of such a debate, I typed up this...by satirizing both. I'm diplomatic like that. :)_

* * *

**How Quaint**

"So…what's his name?"

"The Dragonborn."

"His _name_, not his title."

Isaac didn't answer, and no amount of staring on Garet's part was able to get a response. So instead, he looked at Ivan, who was currently looking at a scroll. Not at the huge dragon descending on the village that looked far too run down for the Mars adept's tastes. Or at all the people running around in terror, said people looking run down as well.

_Man, it's as if someone got shades of brown and dumped them all over the village._

"So, he's the Dragonborn then," Ivan said, watching as the helmeted hulk of a man walked up to the dragon before him. "The Last Dragonborn according to these scrolls."

"Yes, nitwit, I know he's the Dragonborn, I'm wondering what his _name _is."

"Um, well, I don't know," Ivan murmured. "In fact, I don't even know what his species is."

"What?" exclaimed Garet. So did Isaac. For his part, the Dragonborn shouted "fus do rah!" and struck the beast with his sword.

"There's so many accounts," Ivan exclaimed. "Nords, Bretons, orcs, elves, all of them with different names."

"Huh. That's…weird," Isaac said. "Though come to think of it, my parents once said that when I was being named, it felt like some kind of…person…was entering in letters for them or something."

Garet shook his head. Player characters, choosing names and species…ridiculous. He was Garet, his best friend was Isaac, and Ivan was still Ivan even after Vault and crossing through Bilibin Cave on their way to Imil. As the Dragonborn kept shouting and striking at the dragon, he wondered if it might be best to keep on. He didn't need their help for starters. In fact, come to think of it, it didn't seem like he needed anyone's help.

"Huh," Isaac mused as the Dragonborn let out another shout and gouged out the dragon's eye with his sword. "Hope you don't treat Tiamat like that."

"Pfh," Garet said. "The guy wouldn't know a summon if it bit him on the backside."

"Actually, I don't think he relies on summons," Ivan said.

"But how does he do his thing?" Garet asked. "He's old. Really old."

"Eh, I wouldn't say so," the wind adept murmured. "Late twenties, maybe thirties…not too bad I guess."

"So?" Isaac butted in. "We're teenagers. Everyone knows that teenagers make the best heroes."

Running a hand through his hair, Garet had to agree, and hope he didn't grow up to be like this old fart. Beard, weathered skin, clunky armour that wasn't stylized at all…what kind of hero was this anyway? Mister no name no summons guy who according to some legends was a personalized representation of the Player Character, some deity who controlled the actions of Men. Bleh.

"Fus do rah!"

Well, if the Player Character God _was _controlling the Dragonborn, he seemed to be doing a good job, Garet reflected. The dragon was dead, and the people were coming out of their houses. Some of them even had yellow exclamation marks over their heads.

_Exclamation marks? I could get sweat drops or mood icons, but seriously, what madness is this?_

"Huh, nice job," Isaac said. He turned to Ivan. "Where do you think he's off to now?"

"No-one knows," Ivan whispered. He looked up more of his scrolls. "The Dragonborn operates in an open world, free to go anywhere, anytime."

"What?" Garet exclaimed. "You mean, he can just wander around doing whatever he feels like?"

"Pretty much."

"Huh. That's stupid," the Mars adept said. "I mean, what's the point of adventuring without an objective?"

"And story," Isaac put in. "You can't have story without some linearity."

Garet nodded. Least Isaac knew how the world worked. And as Ivan put away his scrolls, it seemed he understood as well. They had a job to do. Get to Imil, their destination. Not prance around the world like a ninny in rusted armour.

"Anyway, let's move," Isaac said. He started heading across the snow, away from the village. "Oh, and Garet?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't summon Tiamat while we're out here. My ears are still ringing."


End file.
